


social oscillations

by sunflowersforhyuck (thedawnbeforethesunrise)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, College, Declarations Of Love, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Eventual Smut, Exes, Explicit Sexual Content, Fondling, M/M, Making Out, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, My First Smut, Neck Kissing, No pun intended, Past Relationship(s), Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Kissing, Sexual Tension, Unhappy Ending, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, college party, help me god this was Hard, vomiting mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29217129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedawnbeforethesunrise/pseuds/sunflowersforhyuck
Summary: Renjun doesn’t expect to see Jaemin again at a random college party, but the heart wants what it wants, and Renjun finds he’s getting more than what he bargained for.(Just because you love someone doesn't mean you should be together).
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	social oscillations

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely indulgent and impulsive. I’m sorry for the odd plot and the pain. Please know that I also Felt Pain as I wrote this, which never happens to me. 
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Inspired by all of Niki’s music because I love her lyricism and her voice <3

.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．

Somewhere in between oozing stress and the blocked out, color coded columns of his Google calendar, Renjun managed to get dragged to a party. 

Protesting was futile with Chenle. Ironclad and stubborn as hell, he always insists that Renjun spends way too much time locked up in his room, religiously dedicated to his neatly organized notes. “There’s nothing wrong with studying, don’t get me wrong,” Chenle’s opinions always start with validation. “But you study more than enough.” Renjun usually rebutts with his teetering grades (“You literally have a GPA higher than most of the graduating class”), which he likes to envision as constantly walking on a tightrope. The more he studies, the better the acrobats they are. 

Chenle doesn’t care. Well, he does, which is why he nags Renjun and is the devil on his shoulder about stuff like this. But he doesn’t care for Renjun’s constant groaning. He sticks to dragging his friend out, manhandling him into the pastimes of your average college student. 

There’s a house party at an upperclassman’s apartment, a friend of theirs named Kun. Renjun had been invited via Yangyang, one of Kun’s housemates, but he gave his usual I’ll Try My Best response. It was a courtesy statement, meant to leave him some slack that isn’t needed; he rarely goes to the parties, unless it’s right after exams. 

Winter is a bitch to deal with. Renjun’s ears are firmly frozen and hurting as he shakily exhales misty breaths. Chenle is a few steps ahead of him up the stairs, eyes locked on his glowing phone screen, fingers moving many times faster than his trudging walk. Kun’s place is just up ahead.

“I’m staying for an hour and leaving.” Renjun declares to no one. 

Chenle raises an eyebrow as he finishes sending a text. “Keep telling yourself that.” 

The door swings open magically and two people stumble out of the apartment, bursting the cold atmosphere with sharp laughter. Lucas has his arms wrapped around Ten, who cackles into the air. 

They’re still laughing when Lucas beams radiantly at the two watching. “Oh, hey guys! Come on in, a few people are already here.” 

A few people is a bit of an understatement. Laid out on the mismatched couches, planted on the floor or in the kitchen, bodies blanket the space. They’re all familiar faces for the most part, connections and friendships linked together through shared activities; Renjun himself met Chenle and Kun from Chinese Association. He got to know the others from those two. 

They gingerly step over the haphazardly chucked shoes at the tight doorway space, toeing off their own. Already, the heat of cooking food and warm bodies suffocate Renjun, but it’s better than being in the cold. 

Chenle takes his forearm and drags him to get a drink. They greet Kun, who smiles and waves from his post in the kitchen, making community dishes to feed the people at his party. Renjun would say the vibe of the party is something akin to a large family gathering rather than a night of people looking to get trashed. Still, he knows that’s what’ll end up happening, appearances aside.

“Let’s take shots.” Chenle grabs the first bottle he sees, some extremely vibrant blue liquid in a tall bottle. 

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Renjun glares down at the cup he’s holding, watching as the liquid slithers menacingly into it. “I’m taking two shots and that’s it.” 

Chenle looks at him before scoffing and knocking his plastic cup into Renjun’s. “Just enjoy yourself and then decide.” 

The blue is an artificial raspberry, and it goes down like a flamethrower blazing a path along Renjun’s esophagus. Despite the cool and tranquil appearance, the drink feels like someone has scrubbed his throat with rubbing alcohol and promptly splashed it with juice. Renjun drags himself into the living room, grimacing. 

Yangyang pulls him down to the floor, against one of the couches. They share a blanket as a few of the others are playing video games, their hollers ricocheting within the walls of Renjun’s head. He’s sufficiently warm now, the raspberry sparking heat which effuses right under his skin and through his chest like a bonfire. He’s starting to feel it in his head, a little warm right at the crown. 

All of the laughing doesn’t help how hot he feels. Despite his initial reluctance, he finds himself relaxing into his friends’ chatter and company, melting himself into Kun’s couch and the snappy conversations. He’s yelling and having fun with the rest of them, slipping into everything easily. There is always hesitation before a party, the beck and call of his comfortable room too strong to resist, but when Renjun does end up at a social event, he enjoys it. No matter how attached he is to his studies, he can’t imagine living a life without his friends. 

Maybe Chenle _isn’t_ the devil. 

The games go on until Kun brings out fried rice and bowls. Renjun is curled into the blanket, feeling the initial shot wearing off, and decides to drink more. Upon hearing this, Yangyang makes a declaration to the room that Renjun wants to take a group shot. 

He ends up taking a few more than just the one.

Renjun isn’t a lightweight. He thinks he’s decent at holding his liquor, but he likes to install limits for himself. No use in trying to get piss drunk, anyway; headaches are not his friend. Still, he lets himself be dragged by various friends who want to take shots with him. He’s bubbly inside, so warm and hot under his knit sweater, feeling the burn of a fire right behind his eyes. The fried rice sits wonderfully in his stomach. 

And then there’s a knock on the door.

Renjun thinks the flames are searing through him now. Hell has opened up. 

Because the one person he never expected to see is standing at the entryway.

Jaemin. It feels surreal, like Renjun has split realities and they’ve just collided together. Here, in Kun’s tiny apartment with the smell of Chinese food wafting in the air, wrapped in a blanket and his found family, is very different from where Jaemin lives in Renjun’s mind. In his head, Jaemin is someone that comes with bruising kisses to the face and the heart, a heat that is marked in wet lips and large hands, a chill that comes with their abrupt end of relationship. End of contract, terminated. 

Right now though, Renjun’s scrambled eggs for brains can’t quite remember why they broke up in the first place. Maybe it’s selective memory loss, or willful ignorance.

Jaemin is not alone. He never is, usually, trailing behind friends like a watchful shadow. Quiet, observant, laser eyed. Jisung and Jeno stand in front of him, greeting Kun who answered the door. 

“Hey, you made it!” Chenle gets up from his spot on the couch to grab Jisung. 

Renjun tries so hard to sink into the ground. Reflexively, he moves the blanket higher up his shoulders, praying to the universe that his face isn’t as red as it feels. Everyone else is too preoccupied with their own business to notice, but Jaemin isn’t like that. He tracks things well, almost too well, and it gets under Renjun’s skin as much as it makes him breathless when Jaemin finds all of his soft spots, physically and emotionally. 

Fortunately, Xiaojun stands up to argue with Hendery, blocking Renjun from Jaemin’s line of sight. Now there are a pair of skinny jean legs between him and Jaemin. 

It’s hard to avoid looking though. From behind Xiaojun, Renjun takes fleeting glances as Jaemin takes off his shoes. Everything in Renjun is suddenly alive, skin prickling with sparks. He’s deprived, maybe; he’s not sure if it’s of Jaemin or any kind of attention. He’s willing to bet it’s the former. 

Jaemin looks _good_ , casually and naturally radiant. His hair is no longer a stunning coral pink, but bleached blond, almost white. It’s combed and styled, high and tight on the sides, and it suits him like he’s the first person to ever do it. Under his black coat, he’s wearing a simple grey crewneck and black skinny jeans. Renjun follows the curves of his face; he’s filled out his features a little more, losing the boyish appearance and donning something that makes Renjun’s mouth dry. 

It’s not like this effect didn’t exist before; Jaemin has always made everything go haywire in Renjun’s weak mind. But now, he’s come back with something else riding his cut jaw and his long, slender neck, sloping wide shoulders. Just _that_ , the line from his neck down to his shoulders, his collarbones, makes Renjun want to hurl himself off of the roof. 

Jaemin being here. It’s a curse and a blessing. 

He can’t hide forever. 

Renjun doesn’t know what happens first: him calling out Jaemin’s name or Jaemin locking him down with those hooded eyes. All of it is too much, and suddenly Renjun can’t decide if he wants to run or get it over with. 

The noise clears when Jaemin is walking to him. There isn’t any room to think; he’s a lot to take in, overwhelming like he always is for Renjun. Everyone seems to move away naturally, leaving a space for Jaemin to sit down, their knees knocking into each other. The proximity chokes the words out of him. 

“Hey. Wow,” Jaemin’s face morphs into a smile, a slight curl that makes Renjun feel something again. The room disappears around them. “It’s been a while. How are you?” 

“Um, good. I’ve been alright.” Renjun choppily replies and he grimaces internally. “You?”

“The usual. School, work, all of that shit.” Jaemin licks his lips, blinks long lashes. “I’m overworked, but I’m okay overall.” 

“Yeah. Me too.” 

Jaemin has his arms out, sweatshirt sleeves pushed up, and Renjun tries incredibly hard to ignore the veins lacing his forearms, going to his hands. A wild errant thought of being manhandled pops up like an error window and Renjun tries not to let it show on his face. 

Judging by how Jaemin turns to look at him, a small smile daring to appear, he’s noticed. 

“So…what have you been up to?” Jaemin asks. 

Renjun fixates on Jaemin’s grey sweatshirt. “Just...school. I’m still volunteering on Saturdays.” 

He feels something catch in his throat when Jaemin darts eyes to his mouth. 

“You still work with the kids?” 

“Yeah. They’re the same as always.” He smiles a little.

“That’s nice.” 

Jeno comes over then, pulling on Jaemin’s arm to get him for a shot. And then Renjun is alone again, left to stare at the crevice that Jaemin leaves behind, wondering about how quickly someone can come and go. 

.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．

The night continues. At parties, Renjun always feels like time is warped, a perpetual pocket of existence where the only thing that matters is what goes on in the moment. He’s been all over the room, laughing until his sides hurt, yelling too loudly and curling into people when he feels the hazy slump of inebriation. He runs on funny snippets and shot counts rather than the time on his phone. There is nothing else outside of Kun’s apartment. 

It’s nice to be preoccupied by simpler things. While watching a game of king’s cup, he remembers the last party he went to with Jaemin. It used to always be Jaemin who would ask him to go places, Jaemin who would tap on the frosted glass walls of Renjun’s tunnel vision and ask him to smell the roses. Nowadays, things are different. A year makes a difference.

Jaemin isn’t into drinking. He’ll take the house shot and then never touch the alcohol again. When they first met, Renjun had asked him what he went to parties for then, and Jaemin had laughed into the air, head back. “I like to watch. Is that weird? I just observe everyone being drunk.” His smile had been a little bashful, as if a secret had been exposed. “It’s just nice to sit in the atmosphere sometimes.” 

That, at least, hasn’t changed about him. Whenever Renjun skirts his gaze around his friends, lightly intoxicated and thrumming on existentialism, he always sees Jaemin on the side, carefully tucked into a couch corner or standing just at the edge of the circle, a permanent half smile on his lips. Renjun forgot how delicate that smile can seem. 

Whenever Renjun speaks or has something to contribute to the drunken conversations, he tries not to hope that Jaemin is watching him, eyeing him and swallowing all of the details. He tries not to hope Jaemin notices he’s a little broader (the little things, the little things) or that he’s a better dresser after a year of being friends with Yangyang. 

Renjun is weak to what he wants.

And Jaemin grants him what he desires. Every time Renjun looks over, those wholly too big eyes are on him, cutting through his flimsy façade. Anyone who is sober enough for a few seconds to let their observational skills kick in can see how much Renjun is gravitating towards one singular person. 

He chastises himself for being like this. But he’d like to believe, placing bets on the small drop of sobriety left in him, that Jaemin, too, is staying close.

Amongst the activities that the group cycles through, Renjun thinks he’s playing his own game with Jaemin’s interest. A glance here and there, coming up to comment about something, a shy touch to the elbow. He might be losing it, or delusionally hoping for something, but he thinks a few times, Jaemin steadies his swaying form with a hand to the small of his back. Once, the hand stays there. Twice, Jaemin looks at him with something a little heavier than a cursory glance. 

As they battle drowsiness into the fringes of night and early morning, the party changes in atmosphere. A few people disappear, moving to different rooms or placed carefully under blankets to knock out for the night. Someone was vomiting earlier. A smaller cluster forms in the living room to chat, Renjun planted firmly on the carpet between Kun and Xiaojun. He lost the blanket a long time ago. 

“It’s crazy to think we’re almost midway through the semester.” Hendery squeaks out, stretching to the ceiling. 

“When there’s a lot going on at once, that tends to happen.” Xiaojun leans back on his arms, face faded from vibrant red to a faint rose. “The weeks just fly by.” 

Hendery huffs. “It’s kind of sad to think about. We’re moving on in school, but not really having fun.”

Renjun suddenly remembers that outside of this living room, he has a plethora of work waiting for him. He thinks of his color-coded tasks and the half-finished homework he left out on his desk. Reflexively, he lifts his mixed drink to his lips and lets it rush warmly across his tongue, trying to relive the past hour. 

They keep talking about school and graduation, but Renjun wanders off to the other rooms. “You’re okay, right, Renjun?” Kun asks before the other boy gets on his feet. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Renjun isn’t sure, actually.

The hallways are dark, swathed in blurry grey shadows stemming from the minimal warm light of the living room. Gold light outlines a few of the bedroom doors, and Renjun lightly grazes fingers on it, wondering if some of the gold will flake off like filigree on his fingers, shimmering like it’s New Years. It’s a drunk thought and he can’t help but giggle at himself. The dark and closed-door rooms contain the few who have fallen through the progression of the party, namely Chenle and Yangyang. 

Renjun makes a decision to open the door at the very end of the hall. It looks inconspicuous enough, but something in the back of his mind, likely his unfiltered imagination, tells him that what’s beyond the door could be life-changing. He likes to think about things like that, spiraling into different dimensions and the infinite alternate universes that are created with every choice. Him choosing this door might be catastrophic, or it might ripple out into a glimmering web of wonderful things to come. It might set him on the path to blessings. 

It’s all stupid and he shakes his head, clearing it like dust. Then he pushes the door open, reaching for gold shimmer. 

On the other side, he sees an Ikea twin bed pressed against the corner, right in front of the door. There’s a simple striped grey comforter with one Jeno laying on it, eyes closed and ankles crossed, fingers laced across his abdomen. A poster of Jay Chou hangs on the wall, and Renjun recognizes this as Kun’s room. He tenses when he finds there are other people here, Ten and Jaemin sitting at the desk. They’re bent over and laughing at a random, clunky track they’ve put together on one of Kun’s music programs. 

“Uh.” Renjun starts. They whip their heads. “Hi.”

“Renjun! Come in, come in. Help us create the greatest masterpiece on this _planet_.” Ten smiles brightly, radiating a happiness fueled by vodka. “This is what we have so far.” 

A little shocked, Renjun hesitantly steps towards them. When he gets close enough, Jaemin scoots his chair out to let Renjun step closer to the desk. Ten grabs his arm and pulls him into the offered space, ignoring the startled yelp. 

“Look at this bassline.” Ten pokes Kun’s computer screen harshly, the pixels warping from his finger. “Jaemin made it. I think it sounds great.” 

“Maybe if you play it, I can tell you if it’s good or not.” Renjun quietly replies. 

Jaemin laughs a little. He scoots the chair back in, effectively trapping Renjun between his thighs. It makes everything hot in the room, makes his head woozy. Before he can dwell on his circumstances, Ten plays the track.

Obviously, it isn’t meant to sound good. Strangely enough, it kind of works in its own way. Guessing by the bursts of laughter from Ten and Jaemin, Renjun’s face gives away how he feels about it. 

“I don’t think he likes what we made, Nana.” Ten pouts. 

Jaemin leans on the desk, tilting his head to look up at Renjun. “He’s a hard one to please.” There are fingers which trail on the back of his forearm, snagging Renjun’s attention like nothing else. 

“Huh?”

Ten cackles, blissfully ignorant. Jaemin’s lips pull into a satisfied smirk, wholly smug and a little sexy, and then he’s sitting straight again. Renjun is burned by it. He wonders what alternate universes he can jump into to escape this scenario right now. Still, he stays rooted where he is, between Jaemin’s legs and his fight-or-flight response. 

“What’s that?” Ten points at Renjun’s forgotten cup, limply held in his hand. 

His fingers are clammy on it. “Just some drink Sicheng mixed for me.” 

“What’s in it?” 

As Renjun opens his mouth to respond, he feels someone’s hand graze his before the cup is plucked from his grasp. Jaemin looks into the cup, lightly swirling the liquid, before tilting it to take a sip. The way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down, neck exposed, the way his chest pulls on his grey crewneck, makes Renjun’s mouth go dry. Ten makes a noise in awe. 

Jaemin lowers the cup with a grimace. “It’s warm and fruity. That’s gross.”

“I can’t believe you drank that...you don’t like drinking.” Renjun mutters. 

If there is gold outlining the doors, Jaemin has silver in his eyes. “I just wanted a taste.” 

He proffers the cup, as if it was his all along. Feeling bold, Renjun swiftly takes it and brings it to his mouth, drinking some too. Jaemin’s eyes go dark at the sight. 

The door clicks open and they all turn their heads. 

“Oi, Jisung.” Jaemin calls out, watching as the boy teeters on his feet. 

“Hey, guys.” Jisung mumbles with eyes closed, hesitantly shuffling to the bed. 

Renjun had forgotten Jeno was there, still dead to the world. With little regard for his surroundings, Jisung bumps into the end of the bed before dropping onto it, grasping for Jeno’s unmoving arms and torso. In his haste for contact, he wakes the slumbering bear.

“Get off of me.” Jeno mumbles, brows pulled in tight. 

Jisung whines loudly, clinging with a tightening vice. “No, I don’t want to.” 

“We should save him.” Ten suggests to the other two. 

“Not me.” Renjun mumbles, followed by Jaemin saying, “Save who exactly?” 

Sighing loudly, Ten calls out for Jisung, who cutely lifts his head from its stubborn perch on Jeno’s chest. A disgruntled Jeno has given up, hands half pushing Jisung’s shoulders, half slipping back into immobility. With as much grace as a drunk person possesses, Ten reaches for Jisung, a valiant attempt that ends in some yelling and Ten falling over on top of both of them. 

“Kun is gonna have a lot to deal with tomorrow morning.” Renjun sighs. 

Jaemin laughs low under his breath. “Maybe we should help them.”

“I don’t want to get into _that_.” 

The pile on the bed seems to have fallen asleep, or they’re too lost to respond. Jaemin laughs again, and this time Renjun turns to catch his expression. It still makes his chest constrict, even after so long. He’s forgotten how to breathe just from one person’s crinkled smile. 

Jaemin stares at him for a long second. “I’m gonna go get a drink.” 

“An alcoholic drink?” Renjun asks incredulously. 

“No, a normal drink. Coke or something.” 

Renjun’s desperation for proximity answers. “I’ll come with you.” 

  
  


.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．

  
  


The kitchen’s fluorescent lights stutter above their heads. 

Under his thin socks, Renjun’s feet are hot against the chilled tile. It’s colder here, the window above the sink popped open. He shivers involuntarily, leaning against the counter as Jaemin pulls open the refrigerator to search for his drink. His grey crewneck rides up as he bends at the waist, and Renjun feels his blood rush at the sight of his boxer brief waistband. Innocuous enough. 

Jaemin clicks his tongue and Renjun is thrown back into the kitchen. “There isn’t anything in here.” 

“Maybe there’s something in Lucas and Sicheng’s room. They have a mini fridge.” 

There’s a hum. “Let’s go there, then. I really want a soda or something.” 

“You still love your sugar. That’s good to know.” Renjun doesn’t know why it’s good to know.

Jaemin closes the refrigerator door and suddenly comes to stand in front of Renjun, close enough that the other boy can see pores. There’s a dash of a smile. “Well...not everything can change after a year.” 

_There it is_. “It’s been a year, hasn’t it?” He feigns ignorance. 

They leave the kitchen, Renjun hot on Jaemin’s heels. White-blond locks are tousled as Jaemin sticks his fingers through his hair. It’s a simple gesture, but all seemingly innocent occurrences with Jaemin are fortified with something intoxicating. 

Shadows swallow them again, but this time Renjun doesn’t have to think about what door to open as Jaemin pushes into Lucas and Sicheng’s room. It’s dark inside, but the flick of the light switch reveals two beds, two halves of a space. The different occupants’ tastes are obvious judging by their decorations.

Renjun hesitates awkwardly at the door as Jaemin takes it upon himself to rummage through the mini fridge. His waistband greets Renjun a second time, and it is then that the boy realizes he’s much too sober to be dealing with this. 

“Is there a beer or something in there?” He quietly asks. 

Jaemin turns his head. “There’s some peach soju in here, if you want.” 

“That sounds disgusting.” Renjun wrinkles his nose, grimacing.

“I thought you’d say that.” Jaemin muses. “Here, take this instead.” 

A frosty grape soju bottle appears out of the fridge. Blinking, Renjun slowly reaches out to take the neck of the bottle, relishing in how nice the cold glass feels. He twists the cap off, too aware of Jaemin watching him, and drinks some of it. It’s good, sweet enough and cold enough. 

“Is it okay?” Jaemin lifts his own drink, a Coke, to his lips. 

“Yeah, I like it enough.” 

“Well. I guess things really don’t change.” 

It’s there again, the lingering and unspoken knowledge that neither of them will speak into existence. Renjun doesn’t want to reach out and try to grab something that can’t be touched. It’s pointless to hope for anything different than what is here now.

Jaemin looks at him with the same idea. Turning, he sits down on Lucas’s bed. “So how have you really been?” 

“What does that mean?” Renjun darts eyes on Jaemin’s figure.

“You know what it means. Tell me about _you_. I’m not here to interview you for med school.” 

His eyes pin Renjun down. It’s mildly arousing and scary at the same time.

“I’m doing alright. Obviously, I’m worried about...school.” He cringes at himself. 

But Jaemin takes it in stride, slumped over as he drinks his Coke. “Is it the grades? The schoolwork?” 

“Yeah, all of that. I mean…” Renjun feels awkward standing, so he moves to sit on Sicheng’s bed. Jaemin watches him all the same, drinking. “I’m the same person, as always. School is my priority no matter what.” 

“Right. Your priority.” 

Jaemin looks sad and Renjun hates it. 

He laughs awkwardly, sipping from his soju. “I’m kind of boring. Nothing has changed in a year for me, I guess.” 

“You’re not boring.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Really, you’re not.” Jaemin presses lightly. Renjun forgot how soothing his voice is. “And you have changed.” 

“I have?” 

That makes Jaemin smile, for whatever reason. He looks entirely too attractive just sitting there. “You look more comfortable with yourself.” 

“Really?” Renjun chews his lip in thought. “I guess I am. I don’t know, I think I’ve become more settled into my routine. I understand myself a little better.” 

“It definitely shows.” Jaemin nods, gaze flicking to his metal Coke can. “You look good.” 

Renjun feels warm, maybe from the soju. “Thank you.” 

They run out of things to say. Renjun sticks to staring at the space under Lucas’s raised bed, feeling his exhaustion pull on him again. He thinks back to the school work left at home. Something bothers him, makes him feel antsy. Maybe he wants closure or some kind of acknowledgement, one last time of fun. Maybe he wants to be with Jaemin again because he misses the feeling. He feels guilty for treating this like a task, like he wants to get it done and over with. Maybe it’s how he manages stress, desperate to finish whatever is causing him the anxiety. Renjun didn’t realize he could be that way with people. 

“You’ve changed too, if that isn’t obvious to you.” He stares down the emerald bottle neck. 

“Have I?” Jaemin raises eyebrows, looking down at himself. “I feel the same.”

“You’re definitely...different.” 

“Different how?” 

“Well,” Renjun flusters. Jaemin’s face morphs into one of amusement. “Your hair.” 

“My hair?” Jaemin laughs at this, bright and sparkling. “I wasn’t expecting that, but yes. I got it bleached last week.” 

Renjun licks his lips and nods, feeling embarrassment splash red on his face. Jaemin is staring at him, an apex predator waiting for the right moment. “Do you like it?” 

“What?”

“My hair.” 

And this is purposeful, entirely. Jaemin is leaned back on his arms, long legs laid out in front of him and torso curving slightly. Renjun nearly chokes on nothing at the outlines of his chest tapering to his waist, the lines all leading to one spot that Renjun doesn’t want to name. There is nothing worse than having temptation draped on a person you can’t have, and Jaemin wears its fabric like he weaved it himself. “Well? My hair?” 

“Are you showing off your hair or something else?” Renjun quips with a heated face. 

Jaemin looks satisfied. Smug ass. “Something else?” 

“Shut up. You know what you’re doing.” 

“I’m just sitting here. Maybe you’re just seeing what you want to see.” Jaemin smiles full on, and Renjun wants to kiss it off of him. 

“Maybe I am.” 

Jaemin doesn’t say anything, turning away to look at the fridge. Renjun notes the red on his ears and it makes him catch his breath. He doesn’t know what to do, what move to make next. Whatever he decides could be the next big thing in his life. Or it could just be what it is under a fluorescent light, bare and plain: he still wants Jaemin and Jaemin wants him. He can feel it in the way he’s itching to move over and plant his legs on the sides of hips. He can tell by how Jaemin has been acting, treading carefully but still unafraid to flirt. It feels like the first time they met, at a party like this one, where the doors lead to destinations far into the future and the shadows conceal breaths and hands. 

“What’s been going on with you? Besides school.” Renjun’s voice is thick. 

Jaemin looks at him, relaxed. “I’m still the same. No new activities or exciting events.”

“Do you still do photography? Like photoshoots for people?” 

“Yeah,” Jaemin nods. “I’ve gotten better since I first started.” 

“I’d hope so, if you’ve been doing it for so long.” 

Another sleek smile. Jaemin is _too_ pretty. “I’ve expanded my repertoire from graduation shoots. I do my own stuff on the side too.” 

“That’s great, Jaem.” It slips out, the nickname. “I’m happy for you.” 

“Thanks…” He trails, shyly running a hand through his hair. “Maybe you can come by. Get your photo taken.” 

“For graduation?” 

“For my artistic endeavors. Or for graduation. Whatever you want.” Jaemin bites his lip, a habit of his, and it’s detrimental. 

Renjun reflexively licks his. “Sure. I’d love to.” 

He has no idea what that entails. For a quick second, Renjun wonders if he’ll end up being naked in Jaemin’s apartment, but he figures there are worse things. Obviously. Clearing his throat, he drinks more of his soju. A pleasant warmth is worn on his head like a hat, and he feels it on his neck too. He briefly imagines Jaemin asking him to take his clothes off, sees Jaemin removing it for him.

“I hope I don’t end up naked.” Renjun accidentally says aloud, eyes going wide. Jaemin goes wide-eyed before bursting into laughter. “ _Fuck_ , I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud.” 

Jaemin laughs some more. “No, I mean, it’s a valid concern.” He’s a pretty crimson, flushed from the giggles. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked though.” 

That makes both of them blush. 

“Right. Yeah.” Renjun gulps, staring hard at his bottle. 

“Renjun.” 

Jaemin’s gaze is heavy on him. Renjun is frozen like a prey that has been outrun. But beneath the exhilaration and his rabbit’s heart, he feels anticipation. He wants this so badly. Why can’t he just take a chance?

Desire compels him to stand, Jaemin following the motion with his head going up. With all of the attention, Renjun wonders if he’s letting the alcohol dictate his actions. Weighted footsteps are taken, a short distance to cross to end up between Jaemin’s spread legs, just like how they were in Kun’s room. 

“What are you doing?” Jaemin says this low, the sound grating against his own throat. 

Renjun is still holding the green bottle. “Standing.” 

Jaemin gently takes the bottle and places it down on Lucas’s nightstand. He puts his Coke right next to it. The smooth expanse of Jaemin’s neck is opened up for Renjun to see when he stretches to place the bottle down, and the urge to lean forward and press his mouth there almost takes over. They’re so close together in a room with so much space. 

Jaemin looks with a challenge in his eyes. “Standing between my legs?”

“I guess so.” Renjun throws back, a little breathless. 

“What a place to be.” 

Renjun doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They’re awkwardly hanging at his side, and he’s literally between a waiting man’s legs, ready to bolt out the door the minute Jaemin tells him yes or no. He doesn’t know which will make him run. 

Jaemin licks his lips, dropping his head to laugh a little. Renjun feels the breathy chuckle through his shirt and it makes him weak. 

Bravery in a bottle is dangerous. “So?”

“What?” 

Renjun flushes, and Jaemin smiles teasingly. 

He exhales, not realizing he was holding a breath. This is not his area of expertise at all. Jaemin is looking at him, watching for movement, trying to look for a sign. He’s sitting upright, all shiny and new like a polished jewel. The game is always what is unspoken, what is hidden in actions and body language. Renjun is terribly out of practice. 

But Jaemin, twelve months later, reads him like no one else. There’s a beat, a flash of something in his eyes, before he gingerly brings his fingers to Renjun’s hands. 

They’re dry, but warm, a comfortable temperature. Renjun is very aware of how hot his own hands are at the moment, the slight clammy feeling to them. But Jaemin gently laces their fingers together anyway, clasping in a loose hold, so now Renjun can’t go. 

“Is this okay?” Jaemin whispers. 

“Yeah.” Renjun breathes. 

Then Jaemin is standing, rising to his full height. Renjun holds his breath, heart speeding to keep him from passing out. His hands are released, except for a few of his fingers which Jaemin holds onto, easy and casual. 

His vision fills with long lashes and silver in dark glimmering eyes. Renjun feels dizzy, but he lifts his hands to grab the sides of Jaemin’s crew neck, fisting the shirt. Jaemin’s lips part and he’s leaning in closer. 

His voice is hedonic, a drawl like slithering cold ice down Renjun’s back. “What do you want, Renjun?” 

Renjun kisses him as an answer. 

He hasn’t kissed a person in so long, and it hits him while he’s got his lips pressed against someone else’s. Jaemin responds in kind, applying gentle suction on Renjun’s bottom lip, exhaling slowly through his nose. He tastes like Coke, sweet and fizzy and blissful. When Renjun chases the taste, Jaemin’s hands climb up to grip his jaw, keeping him close.

Maybe this is a mistake. Renjun feels a distant alarm bell go off, something reminding him of why they broke up. He doesn’t visit his memories to try to remember. The present moment is all that matters, and it’s always been that way. Not just at parties, but in every moment with Jaemin. Renjun lives two steps ahead, but Jaemin will always anchor him to the present. He forces Renjun to stop and look off the cliff to see the ocean, smell the salty breeze, take in the tides. It’s why Renjun fell for him in the first place. 

Jaemin always kisses like it means something. The slow presses turn into making out, more languid and wet. They separate briefly, hot breaths and hooded eyes, before Jaemin surges forward again, insistent and eager. He moves one hand to rest on Renjun’s back, just as he angles his head to deepen a kiss. He parts Renjun’s lips and licks into his mouth, swift and heady. The pressure is almost bruising, but Renjun responds just as strongly. He loses himself, focusing on Jaemin’s hands, his shoulders, the cut of his face and the way his lips move just how Renjun likes it. 

He has a grip on Jaemin by the front of his shirt, sinking teeth into his bottom lip. Eventually, Jaemin falls back on the bed and takes Renjun with him. They crawl on it together, Renjun with his knees right next to Jaemin’s hips, and Jaemin on his back. 

Hands roughly travel down Renjun’s sides and he moans a little into Jaemin’s mouth. Jaemin smirks against his lips, and he kisses it away with as much force as he can muster. 

His hands slide down Jaemin’s torso, the same chest he’s been staring at the entire night. It’s satisfying and he sighs as he drops his head to map open mouthed marks onto that long neck, relishing in the way Jaemin moans unabashedly. The vibrations soar through him. He doesn’t care if anyone hears them. The image of Jaemin, head thrown back and mouth parted, eyelids fluttering, is branded on Renjun’s being. 

Then Renjun is flipped onto his back, yelping. Jaemin laughs a little, the lights setting his hair on fire, a white glowing halo. That face, large eyes blown and lips pressed red—all of it is because of Renjun. He hastily pulls Jaemin down to kiss him hard, enough to make the boy grunt. 

He wants clothes off. When he hastily tugs on the grey crewneck, Jaemin bursts into quiet laughter and that makes Renjun’s heart beat faster than anything else. Eyes liquid, he stares right through Renjun’s skull as he reaches to pull his shirt off, baring skin and lean muscle under the recessed lights of this borrowed bedroom. It makes Renjun burn deep as he unreservedly rakes his eyes over everything, all of Jaemin’s lean muscle and curves, his perfect architecture. His neck is no longer clean, spots of splotchy rose and dotted blood tattooed to smooth flesh. 

“Fuck.” Renjun curses lightly. 

Jaemin’s lips pull at the corners. He surges forward, caging Renjun in with his arms. “You look so pretty.” 

Renjun feels lips graze the shell of his ear, and then Jaemin’s tongue. It makes him sensitive, pulling a gasp as he wraps arms around Jaemin’s neck, arching up into his broad chest. He feels Jaemin against him, half-hard. 

This moment stretches on in the night, seconds drawn out for Renjun’s benefit. A small part of him fears what happens after this is done, after they separate and part ways. What will happen to them? 

Jaemin has moved on to Renjun’s neck, returning the favor. Renjun whines and curses harshly, a breath more than a spoken word, and Jaemin is enjoying it, biting and sucking harder. A hand wanders over Renjun’s shirt and then under it, teasing him. It keeps going, making its way to the bulge in Renjun’s pants, palming him through fabric. And this breaks whatever errant and jittery thoughts occupy Renjun’s mind, flushing out his brain in favor of pleasure. 

“You look so hot right now.” It makes Renjun embarrassed to hear it, but he’s basking in the compliment. “You’re so hard already.” 

Renjun tries to bury his face into the comforter. Jaemin pulls back to smile luminously and kiss Renjun's cheek. Everything is skin and plastered shadows of eager hands. 

He’s bursting at the seams. Jaemin snips away at his resolve, breaking him down slowly. Renjun’s shirt is lifted, hot skin shocked by the cold of the air. Lips trail over all of his soft spots, Jaemin’s fingers moving on a landscape that he knows well. It pulls all kinds of noises from Renjun, unrestrained and whimpering, until Jaemin comes up to kiss him and whispers for him to be quieter or the others will hear. Renjun responds with a loud expletive when Jaemin bites a nipple, fingers gripping white blond locks.

His pants are off, shirt discarded somewhere in the room. Jaemin looks like a dream, undoing his jeans, gazing at Renjun like he’s all that matters. It makes Renjun hurt somewhere inside his chest, because tomorrow they won’t exist like this. He is still the same as he was a year ago, and he will always come undone for Jaemin. 

They’re kissing again, but this time, Jaemin takes it slow, soft and then insistent. He teasingly tugs on Renjun’s lip, careful and sweet, and Renjun feels a shot of ecstasy heading south. 

“I want you,” Jaemin says it right into his ear, breathless and hypnotic. 

There are stars in his eyes, misty and alluring. And then Renjun is bowled over by the realization that he still loves Jaemin, more than he should. 

The fear of falling into something he might not be able to escape grips his panicked heart as Jaemin starts to suck hickeys down Renjun’s skin, leaving him shivering and wanting. It clouds his inner voice, almost enough to make him succumb. But he needs to know. He needs lines and structure. He can’t do this, not yet.

“Wait, Jaem—“ Renjun grips a shoulder. 

Jaemin stops, looking up with a clouded gaze. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“I just—can we just—“ Renjun throws his head back and groans. “Can we talk? I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t do this right now.“

Renjun digs the palms of his hands into his eyes, face hot in shame. He still feels Jaemin’s weight on top of his legs, heavier than before. 

“That’s fine. Let’s talk.” Jaemin slowly rises and moves on the bed, mattress creaking.

Still embarrassed, Renjun opts to stay on his back, gazing up at the ceiling. It’s cold now, goosebumps rising all over his body. The room is no longer overshadowed by Jaemin’s presence, and Renjun sees it for what it is, what this is: someone else’s bedroom in dingy lighting, cheap furniture in a college apartment, two people who exist on What Could’ve Been about to fuck on someone else’s bed. 

There’s warmth on his side, heated skin on his cold arm. He turns to look at Jaemin sitting next to him, whose back rests against the wall. A stab of guilt pings him. 

“What do you want to talk about?” Jaemin asks. 

Renjun wants to hold him, wants to disappear into his arms. “What is this? What are we doing?” 

There is no response, just breathing. Jaemin’s chest rises and falls, expanding and contracting, and his breaths can be heard. Renjun braces himself for an answer, any answer. He thinks whatever Jaemin says will hurt.

“I don’t know.” Jaemin looks blank, eyes moving fast as he thinks. “I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry?” Renjun’s voice is barely heard, cracking and breathy. 

“Because I can’t give you an answer. Because I don’t know what will happen.” 

It makes Renjun’s heart plummet. He doesn’t know what to say, words lost on him, so he stares up at the ceiling instead. It’s white like a blank canvas. The answer makes him feel worse, but it’s only the truth. Outside, there are no sounds; the others must’ve fallen asleep. Jaemin dips his head down. 

Renjun’s voice is meek. “Then...what do _you_ want?” 

There’s a beat of silence, painfully stretching across time. When Renjun turns to look, Jaemin is intently looking off the edge of the bed. 

“I can’t tell you.” 

“Why not?” 

His head rests on the wall. “You’ll try to do something about it. I know you will.” 

“I don’t even know what _it_ is.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Jaemin gulps, blinking before turning to face the other side of the room again. “I’m being stupid.” 

“You’re not stupid. Just tell me.” 

Terse silence blocks their conversation. Jaemin clenches his jaw, eyes fixed on the posters on Sicheng’s side of the room. For a moment, Renjun thinks back to their breakup because Jaemin’s expression now is the same as it was back then.

“I still like you, love you even.” Jaemin admits, swallowing. His eyes waver, fearful. “And I don’t think that feeling will go away.” 

Renjun is knocked down, chest constricted. “I feel the same way.”

It’s quiet again. Jaemin is biting his lip, fiddling with something that’s on his mind. 

Renjun hesitates to ask. “What’s wrong?” 

“This isn’t good.” 

“What?” 

“Jun, I don’t want to be your convenient boyfriend again.” 

Humiliation sears Renjun’s face, burning him all the way down. He doesn’t respond, only breathing deeply as he reels from the blow. There is nothing to say back. All of what happened that day they broke up slams into him, like a truck speeding into his spine and paralyzing him. They had argued about it, Renjun’s days of non-communication due to work and Jaemin’s patience wearing thin. Both of them were tired, and Jaemin was done with waiting on him. 

Now, Jaemin takes Renjun’s hand, loosely twining their fingers. “You work so hard for your dreams, and I admire you for that. But I will always be at the back of your mind.” 

“That’s not—” Renjun gulps, closing his eyes.

“You know it’s true. I don’t want to argue with you again about this.” Jaemin keeps his grip on Renjun’s fingers. “You’re more focused on reaching your goals and that’s perfectly fine.” 

“But what do I do? What am I supposed to—” Renjun bolts upright, and Jaemin watches him with pained eyes. “Why did you do this then? Why are we _here_ right now, if you know how you feel?” 

His voice breaks at the end. Renjun can’t think straight, scrambled by hands and silvery eyes. He still wants _so much_ , more than what this moment is offering. A voice in his head whispers that he should just take what is given to him and ask for nothing more. Jaemin is cracked marble, eyes losing their lustre. He lets go of Renjun’s hand. 

“Why did you?” 

Renjun feels his eyes water. “What?” 

“Why did you kiss me? What was all of this tonight for you?” 

Renjun is breathing hard, hands balled into clammy fists on the comforter. Jaemin is still leaning against the wall, slumped back and nearly naked, wearing pain on his brow and pursed lips. He’s looking for answers too. 

Renjun is just as helpless to the truth. “I didn’t think about anything, I guess. I just...” 

“Yeah. Me too. I didn’t expect...” Jaemin looks down at his legs, stretched out in front of him. 

Outside, some people are talking again. Renjun hears Kun stretching and the clinking of bottles. 

Somewhere, deep down, Renjun scrambles to come up with some other explanation. He seeks it out in his bones, trying to flick through all of the events of tonight, sorting through his haywire emotions and attachments. But the truth is, he always has and always will love Jaemin, and that’s why he’s here. It’ll have to be something he’ll keep for himself, like the remnants of a time when he could have what he wanted. He’s stuck in a limbo, a liminality where he loves someone who has gone past, who has been left behind. 

He could lie to himself, convince Jaemin in the process, and indulge in simpler pleasures, like the brand of Jaemin’s kiss all over his body or the way Jaemin unravels under his touch. It wouldn’t be worth it, though, not when he knows what it could be. Not when it would just hurt them later on. 

They’re magnetic, pulling towards each other no matter what, even if the logic is there to hold them back. Neither of them expected reciprocity, hoping for the bare, physical minimum and ending up with more than they can take. The time and place are all wrong. This universe isn’t the right one for them. 

Still. He reaches for Jaemin anyway. “I should go, then.” 

Their hands come together seamlessly, but the sight makes Renjun’s insides rip apart. When he looks at Jaemin, the silver in his eyes has burned out, leaving behind something unintelligible. He’s heartbreaking under the harsh lighting, shadows scarring his face, but his hair is the gold filigree around the doors, the endless possibilities that Renjun seeks out every time. 

Jaemin nods slowly. “Yeah. Okay.” 

The insistence, the headiness of it all, has simmered to a low boil, but Renjun still feels the desire sticking to him. He leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to Jaemin’s cheek. Hearing Jaemin’s sharp intake of breath makes him want to stay all over again. 

When Renjun pulls back to look at him, up close this time, there’s a spark of something. He forgets to breathe, but he makes sure to press one last crushing kiss to Jaemin’s mouth, hoping they combust and never come back. He stays long enough to feel Jaemin return it. 

Then he pulls away. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I originally was trying to write this based on Vintage by Niki but clearlY that's not what happened here yikes 
> 
> This is way more angsty than I intended. 
> 
> Anyway, please leave me a comment and kudos <3 support and encourage fic writers!! Thank you so much for reading :>
> 
> twt: @sunflowers4hyck


End file.
